Yesterday I injured myself in a particularly moronic way. I stubbed my foot, really hard, against the wall, and as a result my big toe was agony – so painful that I couldn’t put any weight on that part of my foot and I was hobbling around like a medieval crone.
My husband was convinced it was broken – he’s a typical Spaniard, always looking at the negative side, convinced everything is going to go tits up, all doom and gloom. No, they’re not always singing and laughing, drinking sherry and dancing Sevillanas. The Andalucians, especially, have a Dr Jekyll/Mr Hyde type split personality situation going on.
Death and joy are very close bed partners – look at bullfighting, for example. Where else does a man wear such brightly-coloured, ostensibly jolly garb to go and stick spears in a bull until it collapses from exhaustion and is (often messily) dispatched? Or flamenco – the pain on the faces of the dancers and singers is something you don’t forget easily, but then neither is the passion in the interaction between a male and female dancer.
Anyway, turns out Mr it’s-all-a-disaster was wrong (ha!) – as he dropped me off at Urgencias of our local hospital, I was dreading the Monday morning rush hour of hypochondriacs and panickers like me, and what do you know? I was in and out inside of a half an hour. Thankfully the waiting room wasn’t as heaving as I had expected (I even took a gossip mag to pass the time; with the Duquesa de Alba’s forthcoming nuptials, the prensa rosa is positively slapping it on – endless pages about the dress, the designers, the guest list, the arguments over inheritances, the food etc. Riveting stuff).
So I was swept straight into triage, where I asked for an X-ray; waited just 15 minutes for radiografia (hardly time to scan the pages of my rag); then straight to see the very pleasant doctor, who told me my toe has a contusion (sprain), and isn’t broken (hurrah!) – and she even spoke English. Result! My average length of visit to this hospital with children – and there have been a few over the years – is 3.5 hours.
Still hurts like hell, but at least no need for plaster, crutches etc. I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss any more of my Semana de la Arquitectura (Architecture Week) guided tours – today I had to forego the chance to see Seville from the unusual vantage point of the cathedral roof (and you therefore missed some potentially spectacular photos. #bloggerfail). There’s no way I would have made it up all those stairs, and last time I checked, they didn’t have a lift – how inconsiderate.
This is my third post in the A Post a Day challenge – it’s all WordPress’ fault, though blame also has to be laid at the door of my fellow blogger Digamama who convinced me to partake in this masochistic month-long activity. I will try and make tomorrow’s post more interesting, I promise. I’m just warming to the task, so stick with me – it will get better.